


All We Have

by theinterstellartimetraveller



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Darillium, Domestic, F/M, fluff?, i hope you like feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinterstellartimetraveller/pseuds/theinterstellartimetraveller
Summary: “If tonight is all we have...”A (mini) collection of 12river-on-Darillium content (most of which are pretty domestic).





	1. Tonight

For as long as River Song had known the Doctor, there had been a sort of  _ look _ lurking behind his smile. And here, now, gazing almost dreamily into his eyes, she saw it again.

That sad, tearful look akin to one she’d seen before in Bow Tie’s eyes. All those times, all those dates they’d had, and she’d never known what they meant. Well, she had chalked it up to some secret he knew about her future, which she supposed was true, but that  _ look _ . The Doctor had been prone to sudden bursts of sadness when he was alone with her, but it had never neared the point of tears. Not the way it had now.

No, this look was different.

It demolished the Doctor’s carefully constructed face of bravery, sucked every ounce of energy out of him, and left him there, gazing at her with those bright, watery eyes, twinkling with the restaurant’s horde of fairy lights. One could almost have mistaken the look for fatigue, and  _ she  _ almost had. But here, the slow, lazy breeze lacing itself through the Singing Towers, she could see it for what it was.

Anguish, just for her.

Just for  _ them _ .   

The towers sang. The Doctor had shakily spouted some spiel about the mechanics of the towers. Something about the wind, harmonics, and magic. She had to smile at that. Magic. Of course he would.

She sidled up to him, resting her head gently on his shoulder, wrapping her arms slowly around him. He had tensed up as she’d done this, but relaxed, and cautiously snuck an arm around her, pulling her gently towards him.

They’d danced to the towers’ song, River giggling with amused glee at the Doctor’s embarrassed attempts, accompanied by a great deal of grumbled mutterings to the effect of ‘You don’t need dancing to save the universe’ and ‘I have an app for that on my sonic’. But it was said in a joking manner, a grin spread across his face as he settled on twirling her around. An onlooker probably wouldn’t have called it dancing, but she loved it, and that was all that mattered.

Eventually, they’d settled down on the deck of the restaurant, wrapped in a cocoon of  blankets and pillows the Doctor had gotten from the TARDIS, and sipped on what River suspected was very expensive champagne. They watched the towers, their awe of the two monoliths never waning.

Stroking River’s hair lightly, the high-pitched keening in the Doctor’s ears that appeared whenever River Song showed up seemed to have subsided. He had no doubt as to why this had happened.

The game was up.

She knew. She finally knew.

A myriad of emotions swirled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to scowl.  _ Emotions _ . Once upon a time, he had understood them perfectly, but now they were particularly difficult for him. What was he feeling?

Sadness, of course. Sadness that River’s journey was at an end and he would lose his wife. Well, it wasn’t just that. He could always count on her to show up. No matter how many years passed, no many how many regenerations he went through, she  _ always _ showed up. 

Then there was the relief flooding through his veins. He didn’t have to lie to her anymore. No more omissions and pretending that he didn’t know when she would die. Well, there was still the matter of  _ where _ she would die, but that was something he was certain he could handle. He studied her face carefully.  

Why did there have to be so many emotions? 

“Sweetie,” said River gently, her head resting on his chest. “Stop thinking so hard, I can hear your brain buzzing.”   

“Mmm.”

“Is everything okay?” The Doctor frowned. Was everything  _ okay _ ? 

“It is,” he said instead, pulling a smile. And for that moment, it was. His thoughts of the future seemed to fade, and were instead replaced by lighter, happier thoughts, of their time together, and the time they would share.  _ Everything ends _ .  

River stole a look at him. That look of sadness had disappeared, but she knew it wasn’t the last she’d seen of it.


	2. A House and A Home

“This has  _ got _ to stop.” River said, appearing from one of the doorways that led into the rest of the TARDIS. The Doctor stole a peek at her, trying, and failing slightly, to suppress an impish grin as he took in River, disheveled and scowling as she stormed up the console room’s steps towards him. 

“Well,” he said, “you started it.” 

“That’s not the point.” It was true, though. River had, for lack of a better word, ganged up on him with the TARDIS. Together, they’d sent a number of his more questionable fashion pieces to the bottom of the swimming pool. The Doctor had remarked that the prank hadn’t bothered him, but she’d found an inflatable clown in her shower the next day. “You had my bedroom moved to the end of the Kappa Quarter! With me in it! I had to  _ walk _ here!”

“Technically,  _ I _ didn’t move it.” As he said this, the TARDIS gave a burble that sounded remarkably like a giggle.

“Oh, don’t  _ you _ start.” But the corner of her lips were twitching. The Doctor caught her eye, that grin he had been forcing back spread across his face. River found herself smiling back. “ _ Stop! _ ”

“Not a chance.” 

“You’ll take someone’s eye out with that smile.” He shrugged. She waved her finger at him warningly, making her way back out of the console room.  

“We’re getting a house.” 

They decided to head into town to see a real estate agent the next day. Not that day and night meant much on Darillium. 

“It’s funny, really,” the Doctor had said, standing on a ridge during a hike they had taken on their second day on Darilllium. He pointed to a purplish star in the sky, and River followed his finger, squinting hard. “That, right there, is one of the suns of Karavox. See?” She did. “Because an actual night on Darillium is so long-”

“24 Earth years,” she had interjected, and he nodded.

“The locals operate on cycles of 36 hours,” he continued, adjusting his sunglasses. He shrugged. “Mini, tiny sub-days, if you will. Days within days.  _ Cycles _ within days. The planet gets periods of light and dark from the suns of different systems, and nearer, smaller stars.”

“Interesting.” Admittedly, what was more interesting to her was the way the Doctor seemed to have settled into his role as a gruff, wise educator. Well,  _ this _ regeneration, anyway. The one with the Bow Tie, with the flailing limbs she was never quite sure he was actually in control of, would have tripped over his own feet and regenerated. 

_ Perhaps that’s how it happened. _

Now, though, he played the role of an unimpressed home-buyer perfectly, arms folded across his chest, his frown on the verge of a full-on scowl. River linked arms with him, giving him a small nudge.  _ Play nice _ . She turned her smile to the holotablet-carrying real estate agent.

“This is a bit much,” she said, gesturing to the house’s opulent decor. She knew why they’d been brought there, a small mansion sitting at the end of a long, hilly street. The darned algorithm, used by real estate agents throughout the galaxy to match potential homeowners to a house that matched their financial abilities. “We’re just uh, two retirees looking for a nice, small flat.” The Doctor mouthed ‘retirees?’. She shrugged. The real estate agent nodded, and turned to scroll through her holotablet.

“Just  _ where _ did you get all this money from?” The Doctor murmured, eyeing a bird cage, made entirely out of gold, with distaste. River patted his hand lightly, her smile never wavering.

“Do you really want to know?” He didn’t. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get it illegally.”

“It does, actually.” She grinned.

“Well, it wasn’t  _ technically  _ illegal.”

“ _ River _ .”

The real estate agent turned back to them, an info-sheet with a hologram of a small block of flats that looked strangely like something one would’ve found on Earth flickering lightly. 

“I think you’d like this,” the agent said, rotating the hologram slowly. “It’s not a very big apartment, but it has simple, modern amenities, and a spectacular view over the West Valley.  _ And _ it’s ready for you to move into immediately.” River nodded, turning to the Doctor, who seemed to approve.

“I rather think we would.”

It was perfect. It wasn’t by any means a large flat, and was surprisingly rectangular. The doors opened into a small entrance way; a small living room that led off to a balcony sat to the left, and a small hall kitchen, with crystal counters and gleaming silver stove tops. Down the hall to the right, a room that seemed to be constructed mostly of glass gave them a breathtaking view of the forests of the West Valley.

“This could be a study,” said River, grabbing the Doctor’s arm and pulling him into the room. “There’s space for bookshelves and a nice, plush armchair.” The Doctor let her rattle on, nodding along, enjoying her excitement. 

A cosy master bedroom lay at the end of the hallway, equipped with an en-suite bathroom. Back down the hallway, they were introduced to a small laundry room, and hall closet.

“What do you think?” asked River, as they stood on the balcony, gazing out at the valley, laid out before them like an intricately embroidered blanket. The Doctor looked at her. She seemed nervous, though she would never admit it, and he would never ask. He smiled, gently.

“I think it’s absolutely wonderful.” Her face lit up instantly, and a shot of warmth zipped down his spine. He turned to the agent, waiting patiently by one of the kitchen counters. “We’ll take it.” The grinning agent nodded, and began to pull up the forms they needed to sign on her tablet.

“We’re going to live here!” River exclaimed excitedly, throwing her arms around the Doctor. He pulled her into a hug.

“Yes, we are.”

By a small quirk of Darillium time mechanics, the rental agreement had listed their lease (a minimum of 6 months), with the Darillium definition of the word ‘day’. 

“Days? Don’t you mean cycles?” said River amusedly, poring over the forms. The agent returned her amusement.

“No. Will that be a problem?” She shook her head. Why would it? A thought struck her. If they had just signed a lease for 6 Darillium months, and a full  _ day _ on Darillium was approximately 48 Earth years, they had just gotten a flat for… 

“8,064 years,” breathed the Doctor next to her. “Talk about a bargain.” River slid the holotablet back across the table. The agent looked through the forms, checking them once through. Eventually, she looked up at them, and smiled.

“Well, it seems that everything’s in order,” she said, handing them a set of small, metal cuboidal sticks. “You can use these to programme the biometric locks for the front door as well as the room doors, and this,” she picked out a purple cuboid, “is for the mailroom.” And with that, she slipped her tablet into a small bag.

“Wait,” said River, not quite grasping the unfolding events, “is that it?”

“Yes,” the agent said, rather cheekily, in the Doctor’s opinion, “we like to keep it simple here on Darillium.” 

“Thanks,” he said, shaking the agent’s hand, who then turned to leave. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, he turned to River, her mouth agape.  _ Had that just happened? _ He grinned.

“Welcome home, River.”


	3. One Day

There were days, when the distant suns had barely risen, their feeble rays of light beginning their arduous trek across the carpet, that River would awake, long before the Doctor. These days didn’t come by often — the Doctor needed an almost infuriatingly little amount of sleep; he went to bed at the same time she did, and usually had breakfast ready by the time she woke.

Oh, did River cherish these rare moments. The moments when all was silent and calm, and she could lie in bed, the sheets cool to the touch, a cloud of comfortable warmth wrapping her in a snug embrace. 

Today was one of those days. She had awoken at the crack of dawn, turning carefully in bed so she wouldn’t wake him. The Doctor, propped up by two pillows, had clearly fallen asleep in the midst of his book. It lay across his slowly rising and falling chest, his usually frowning features relaxed. She let her head loll to one side. He almost looked peaceful.

His brow twitched, momentarily furrowing into a tiny frown. What he dreamt about, she couldn’t even  _ begin _ to imagine. Probably chasing some evil entity. That man; he never stopped working. A brief thought flit through her mind.

_ Wonder if he ever dreams about me? _

She cracked a smile. He wouldn’t. The thousands of galaxies and wonders he had seen, he would definitely be dreaming about those, not her. Still, for now, he was hers. All hers. And that was enough.

Propping herself up on her elbows, River reached across, gently plucking the book from his hands, and stretched across to place it on his nightstand. As she did this, the sheets rustled as he shifted, his nose briefly scrunching up as he snuggled deeper into his pillow. She froze, holding her breath. 

When she was satisfied that he hadn’t awoken, she retracted her arm, and pulled the duvet up to cover him. Then she closed her eyes, and let the antique clock on her nightstand (a gift from the Doctor during their second year on Darillium) tick the seconds away, lulling her back to sleep.

As soon as River’s breathing had slowed, the Doctor opened his eyes.

He  _ had _ awoken when she’d moved the book, although he would never tell her — he’d let her have that. He sank deeper under the covers, watching bits of her unruly mane of red curls flutter as she took slow, deep breaths. That, he had to admit, was rather pretty. 

_ Pretty? _

That was definitely a concept.  _ Although…  _ He took a moment to contemplate this, taking his time, studying every inch of her. Yes, she was definitely pretty. A burst of warmth swelled through his chest.  

Another emotion sank through the warmth, settling at the bottom of his stomach like a stone in a lake. It sent shivers down his spine, and he shuddered. He knew what it was. Her future. River’s future. More precisely, the nature of her  _ death. _ Damned foreknowledge; it tended to resurface at the most inopportune moments, which, coincidentally, happened to be whenever he felt even remotely happy.

He closed his eyes, silently cursing at himself. He shouldn’t think about that, not when there were happier things to look forward to. There would be plenty of time to be sad later. He lay in bed, watching one of the distant suns make its way across the horizon. 

When the third sun of Gagrazene had sent a flash of pink across the sky and slid below the horizon, he slipped out of bed, stealthily padding his way down the hall, to the small, open kitchen that sat just between the living room and the study. With an eased flourish, he swung the refrigerator door open, and took stock of its contents, mentally scrolling through the food he could prepare. He picked out a few ingredients, and got to work.

He’d gotten the unspoken routine down to a pat. Every morning, he would get up, sling his ‘ _ Kiss the Chef _ ’ apron around him (River’s idea of a joke), and get started on breakfast. He would get three-quarters done with preparing breakfast when River would stumble sleepily from their room -

A thump and a mumbled ‘ _ sorry _ ’ echoed from the narrow hallway. The Doctor smiled; River’s elbow would knock into a particular painting on the hallway’s walls about three times a week, and she would apologise sleepily to it every time. 

She appeared from the hallway, dressed in an oversized, plush white robe, yawning as she rubbed her eyes with her sleeves. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Morning,” she sighed, “what’s for breakfast?” He let her nuzzle her face into his shirt, before replying.

“You’ll see,” he said, and gestured to one of two coffee mugs sitting on the counter. “Have some coffee.” She released him from her embrace, and beelined for the mugs. She took her mug, and lifted herself up onto the counter, sipping slowly as she watched him.

“I like the apron,” she mused, grinning as wakefulness crept into her eyes. “It’s cute.”

“Well, you  _ would _ say that.” She watched as he dished out portions of eggs and bacon onto two plates, then swept past her to the table on their little balcony. River slipped off the counter, picked up his mug and followed him. There they ate in peace, the sky slowly shifting, a flurry of colours morphing into others, a restless artist’s watercolour piece.

Neither of them would have thought that domesticity would have suited them. The Doctor and River Song, notorious throughout the galaxy for epic adventures, which generally involved running, saving planets and occasionally wreaking havoc.  _ Them _ , sitting in a flat all day, doing whatever it was regular people did all day, until it was time to go back to bed? It seemed unthinkable.

Or was it?

“River!” The Doctor’s voice echoed from the bedroom, “it’s back!” 

River dried her hands on a towel, hurried out of the ensuite, and launched herself into bed. The Doctor caught her, engaging her in a playful wrestle. When she laughed, he kissed her on the forehead, and released her. She snuck an arm around him, resting her head on his chest, as their television - a vintage set by 21st century Earth standards, souped up to receive the Pandorian networks, spat out what seemed, strangely, to be a French film.

Perhaps it was whoever you spent that domesticity with  that mattered.  _ Well, whatever it is, _ she thought, a smile on the brink of contentment spreading across her face,  _ it’s working. _


	4. Sunset

Snow fluttered to the ground, dusting the concrete pavement like icing sugar on a cake. In the quiet darkness of the night, street lamps illuminated the row of houses squashed together, with their identical rows of doors and windows. Well, they were _practically_ identical. Sitting near the middle of the row of houses was a house barely distinguishable from the others, except for the fact that it had a strikingly bright blue door.

The door swung open, and a figure stepped out onto the porch. She gave a red headed woman a hug, then made her way down the steps, turned to give the watching couple a parting wave, and hurried down the street, hands planted deep within her pockets. She turned the street corner, and nearly ran face first into a blue police box. The doors swung open.

“You moved the TARDIS,” said River accusingly, brushing the snow from her coat. From the balcony of the console room, the Doctor swiveled around in his chair.

“But I didn’t leave the brakes on,” he pointed out. “I never ever do that.”

“They might’ve _seen_ the TARDIS.”

“How was dinner?”

“Lovely,” River said, “Amy made a pot pie.” She watched him for a moment, then added: “They miss you.”

“Mmmm.” They had decided that the Doctor wouldn’t show up when River zipped back home to visit her parents; the regeneration made it rather complicated. He would drop her off, wait for her in the TARDIS, and whisk her off again. Well, on the bright side, he didn’t have to worry about being recognised by them.

River waited. She knew she shouldn’t push it; it was hardly a secret that the Doctor didn’t like endings, or talking about them. And her parents’ ending seemed to be approaching, she noted, glancing at a local date readout from one of the monitors. Still, she waited.

“Okay,” she finally murmured, and made her way down the steps, towards her room. When the Doctor was sure that she was out of earshot, he clambered down the stairs, and grabbed hold of one of the monitors. It flickered, and displayed the front of the Pond residence, with its blue front door. In one of the windows, he could vaguely see Rory carrying dishes to the kitchen, while Amy collected placemats.

Good. That was good. _They_ were good, and that was all that mattered. Briefly, he wondered if his younger self had made an appearance at Christmas that year. Probably not. Not that year, anyway. He shrugged, and flipped a few switches on the console. Silently, the TARDIS dematerialised.

“Well, I never,” said River, re-emerging from one of the doorways, now dressed in a robe. “You really _are_ letting those poor brakes get some rest, aren’t you?” The Doctor shrugged.

“It was bound to happen someday.” River made her way up to the platform, and wrapped her arms around the Doctor. She sighed. He had never let her use her vortex manipulator when she went back for one of her little visits, instead insisting that he drop her off in the TARDIS. _‘Cheap and nasty time travel, anything could go wrong,’_  he’d say. But River knew otherwise, though she’d never say it.

“Why don’t we have a picnic in the observatory?” She said, reaching one hand forward to pull a lever, “that could be fun. I could go make some tea and grab some food from the kitchen.” He grinned, and she knew she had him.

“Get dressed, we’re going somewhere better than the observatory.”

“Oh, Doctor,” she sighed, giving him a brief squeeze, “always _so_ close.” She winked, and vanished down the hall again.

The planet of Aerignis had an almost mythical status. It was spoken about with such wonder and amazement, a quarter of the galaxy had trouble believing that it was even real. Through time, the stories had become warped by constant retelling; to some, the planet existed as a glass bubble, the most beautiful Christmas bauble in the universe. To others, gold beings roamed the planet’s surface, controlling the weather telepathically. The stories were wild and plentiful, but everyone, young and old, knew the name of Aerignis.

It was here that the TARDIS landed, on its soft lilac grass. The doors opened, and the Doctor appeared, a picnic basket hanging from the crook of his elbow. River brought up the rear, wind slipping through her sun dress, grinning as her eyes took in the dusky swirl of colours sweeping the sky.

“Aerignis,” the Doctor announced, gesturing grandly at the field around him, “the planet of perpetual sunsets.”

“Nice spot for a picnic.” And it was. The field the TARDIS had landed in seemed to be part of a savannah of sorts, the lilac grass stretching for miles in every direction, dotted with the occasional cluster of bioluminescent vegetation. The Doctor whipped a tartan blanket out from the basket with a majestic swoop, and let it flutter to the ground. He placed the basket on it, turned to River, and bowed dramatically.

“M’lady.” She took his hand, and curtsied, laughing.

“M’lord.”

They had barely made it 15 minutes into the picnic when the Doctor decided that cushions were needed. With a brief ‘ _Wait here_ ’, he’d darted back to the TARDIS, and re-emerged with an armful of the cushions that had made the console room their home.

“You know, you remind me of Willy Wonka in that velvet coat,” said River, gazing at him thoughtfully as she lay on the blanket, propped up on her elbows, legs stretched out before her.

“Well,” he said, mimed leaning on a cane and putting on a top hat, and winked.

“ _No_.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” the Doctor said, “and those Oompa Loompas were actually Marignites from Magmaferon VII, not diminutive creatures from Loompaland. Old Roald insisted on changing that. Apparently aliens were a little bit too much for a story set in a magical chocolate factory.”

“But the movies! Willy Wonka’s depicted as so much younger in them-”

“I _am_ young!”

“-And _handsome_.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” She was joking of course, eyes twinkling mischievously as she kicked one leg up at him, sending her sandal flying towards him. He lobbed one of the cushions at her.

“Fine,” she said, grinning. The Doctor dropped the rest of the cushions onto the blanket. “Come on, my handsome spaceman.” He settled down on the blanket next to her, and they gazed at the sky, tracing shapes, some of them rude, in the swirling colours with their fingers.

Seven hours later, under the fiery pink and purple skies of Aerignis, two figures lay on a tartan blanket, sandals and leather boots strewn across the grass. The Doctor had pulled out a book, and read it slowly. Her head resting on his legs, River weaved small flowers into a flower crown.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully.

“Hmm?”

“This is nice. I could do this forever.” She returned to her flower crown. The Doctor froze. _Forever_. The one thing they didn’t have. River didn’t seem to have noticed, though. She had finished her flower crown, and handed it to him now. Silently, he took it from her, and placed it on top of his head.

Her smile made it all worth it.


	5. ... Ever After

From her spot in the flat’s little study, River could see the Doctor nestled amidst a small  cloud of pillows on the sofa, gazing stonily at a book gripped tightly in his hands. He was definitely bothered. She had been watching him for over five minutes now, and he hadn’t turned a single page. 

River had noticed that the Doctor had become more and more moody over the past few weeks, an occasional hint of what seemed to be sadness-tinged fearfulness sparking in his eyes with increasing frequency. She knew why. 

By her count, they were well into their twenty-third year on Darillium. They had, of course, promised that they wouldn’t actively keep track of the time that passed, but they just somehow seemed to  _ know _ . She watched him now, staring at his book. He had never been good at saying goodbye. River slung the satchel over her shoulder, put on her biggest smile, and stepped out into the hall.

“It’s going to be  _ absolutely brilliant _ .” She fished her vortex manipulator from her satchel. “A library the size of a planet containing every book that’s ever been written. Fancy that!” He offered her a piece of French toast on a TARDIS-blue porcelain plate, which she took, while he took the vortex manipulator from her grip. She held her wrist out, and he began to fasten the device to it. River watched him do this, chewing thoughtfully. “Have you ever been there?” she enquired, adding, “this toast is delicious, by the way.” He shook his head.

“No, but it sounds lovely, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.” She eyed him, frowning slightly. What was up with him? There was definitely something bothering him. He flashed her one of his smiles, and she felt a lump of worry melt away. Perhaps it was her nearing expiration date, she thought, not knowing just how accurate her guess had been. She ran a hand through his voluminous grey hair.

“Oh, cheer up, sweetie,” she hummed melodically, twirling a lock of his hair with her finger, “It’s just a few days, there and back,” she glanced at her vortex manipulator, “perhaps a quick detour on the way. We can have dinner at that place you like.” 

He didn’t quite hear her words, watching as she babbled on, checking her sonic and various other little tools. Occasionally, she flashed him little grins, and he nodded along, returning her little smiles with his own, hoping desperately that they didn’t betray the sorrow coursing through his chest.

“Are you okay?” She enquired, her face dipping into a slight frown. He blinked.

“Of course I am.” She didn’t quite believe him, but plowed on nonetheless. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. Archaeology. She was saying something about archaeology and a contract that she had refused to sign. 

“Perhaps we could take a trip there when I get back,” said River, after a quick moment of thought, “I know how much you love books.”

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a date.” Her face lit up at this, and he reveled in it. His River. His  _ happy _ River. If he could choose a way to remember her, this would be it.

“Absolutely.” She did a quick check of her possessions, and headed for the door, tapping something into her vortex manipulator. It’d been her idea to use the front door when she went on trips. It made them feel strangely normal. Well, as normal as a Time Lord and his wife could get, anyway.

He watched her go, unable to shake the thought that every step she took towards that door was a step out of his life.  _ I’m sorry _ . The words flit briefly through his mind. He wished he could tell her what was about to happen to her. Perhaps she would stay. But it wouldn’t be the same. Their time would be tainted, and he didn’t want to remember her like that. Besides, they’d had 24 years. That would have to be enough.

“Hey,” River said, the door resting on her shoulder. He snapped to attention; her voice had softened, and she smiled gently at him. In that instant, the light seemed to catch her at just the right angle, casting an almost-ethereal warm glow around her person. She hesitated. “I love you.” 

“I-” The breath caught in his throat. River nodded. He wouldn’t say it back, of course. That man. She loved him all the same. He gazed at her with those soft, light eyes she found herself so frequently lost in. “I love you too.” River cast him a smile, and slipped out of the door, hand reaching for a button on her vortex manipulator.

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the world seemed to stop moving. The silence, disturbed only by the soft rustling of the curtains as they shifted in the wind, seemed to crush him. It clawed at his chest, squeezing him so tightly he almost struggled to breathe, the beat of his two hearts thundering in his ears, until it seemed that everything throbbed those four rhythmic beats.

The Doctor held the book in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over the edges of its pages, eyes gazing steadfastly at the door. He took a deep, shuddering breath, wincing as a sharp pain radiated across his chest. And yet, he knew it wasn’t caused by any physical malady.

He could still feel her in the apartment; hear that peal of laughter she gave when he made one of his jokes, (something he had done with increasing frequency over the twenty-four years), see her light eyes, illuminated by the distant suns in Darillium’s system, gazing at him when he awoke every morning. He glanced towards the kitchen, and for a second, he could see her there, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, grinning at him as he cooked breakfast.

He got up, and made his way down the hall, peeking into one room, then the next, allowing every detail to etch itself into his memory. Of course, he could return – the apartment was theirs for another 8,040 of their years, but he had a feeling that he would not return anytime soon, if ever.

His hand running itself down the doorframe of the study, he scanned the shelves, looking for a particular book. About three minutes later, he realised that the book in question was in the process of being squeezed to a pulp in his hands. It was hardly his fault, he had been so on edge since River had announced her trip a few days ago, he hadn’t been able to read, his eyes glazing over when he looked at the words; seeing, but never actually reading.

_ The Time Traveller’s Wife. _

She had given it to him, almost as a joke. It had appeared on his nightstand one day, perched on top of his diary, full of her annotations and remarks that had crossed her mind while reading it — a one-sided conversation.  _ Her _ side of the conversation. She had even inscribed it for him, a short note scribbled on the title page.

_ So you can talk to me even when I’m not there. _

She had drawn a small heart and a star next to it. He read the note again, and smiled, a small, shaky smile. River Song. He shut the door to the study, and stood, gazing desolately down the hall. What was he to do now? He had grown accustomed to his life on Darillium, to the routine they’d had going.

All those times he had expressed something akin to horror when contemplating a quiet, domestic life, and here he was now, almost fearful of something that  _ wasn’t _ that. Who would’ve known?

The Doctor slipped into the bedroom, picking up his diary and a few pieces of clothing. He crossed the hall, pausing only to add a framed photo to the pile of belongings in his arms, and entered the laundry room, making his way to a blue, wooden box tucked in the corner.

The lights flickered on as he made his way into the console room, and deposited his belongings on one of the chairs that dotted the room’s circumference. He flicked a switch on the console, then stopped, gazing deeply into the orange glow of the time rotors. The TARDIS gave a sympathetic, chirruping burble.

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I know.” He pressed a button thoughtfully, his hand lingering almost wistfully over another. For a second, his eyes darted towards the TARDIS doors, as though he expected a certain someone to burst through it.  

“Well, off we go then,” he finally said, turning his attention back to the console and its array of buttons and levers.

Where would he go now? 

He let his mind flick through a list of places he could visit. Perhaps something nice and dangerous; he would probably go mad if he stewed in his current state of mind. The TARDIS burbled sternly, a sharp warning about his potential myriad of bad choices. He reluctantly decided that she had a point. 

A beep from one of the monitors interrupted his thoughts. He swung the screen towards him, and, despite his current mood, let himself smile. Someone, somewhere needed help. For a split second, he saw her, grinning at him from the other side of the console.

It was all he needed. Determined, he slammed a lever down, reinvigorated with the knowledge that even though that particular chapter of his life had closed, it wouldn’t be for naught. She had changed him, and he knew that no matter what happened, no matter how many regenerations he would go through, he would carry her memory with him, and she would never truly be gone.


End file.
